


Getting Back Up

by LilacCrocuta



Series: Medieval Septiplier [12]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Violence, M/M, Major Character Injury, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacCrocuta/pseuds/LilacCrocuta
Summary: A ruffian tries to take out King Mark, and during the attack, Sir Seán is badly injured.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Sean McLoughlin
Series: Medieval Septiplier [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681588
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. A Downed Irishman

Seán crumpled to the floor in a curled up heap, hands clutching at the large dent in his abdominal plate armor as he did.

The blow had come with minimal warning.

The attack had come with even less of a warning, and as the Irish knight lay there, gasping for air on the palace floor like a beached fish, he knew that there could be dire consequences for this failure.

Once again, someone hell-bent on taking out King Mark had broken into the castle, and Sir Seán had to admit that these attempted assassins were getting quite clever. This one had gotten inside by hitching a ride underneath their carriage, of all places. By the time that he’d been spotted by Sir Bob and Sir Wade at the front entrance of the palace, it was too late, and he’d attacked them violently. Wade had immediately ran off with Mark to protect the king, while Seán stayed with Sir Bob to try and fend the intruder off—however, both of them then realized that this assailant was much more ferocious than they’d anticipated. He was wearing thick, black armor—it was bulky, and left him unable to attack quickly, but it was also extremely durable and hard to pierce.

Then he’d revealed his weapon—a mace. And then he’d promptly put that weapon to use by knocking out Sir Bob with it, and swinging it at Sir Seán, who did his best to dodge it, but could not.

The brunet laid there for a moment or two, focusing all his energy on breathing, or trying to breathe as his strength faltered. The impact had felt more like a fully grown bull ramming straight into his midsection, and though his plate armor provided him some protection from the blow, he knew that he hadn’t escaped unscathed.

Inhaling sharply in pain, Seán clenched his fist against his dented armor, gritting his teeth as he laid there. But through the waves of throbbing pain that rippled through his lower chest and made the blood roar in his ears, he managed to detect a few distant sounds.

_**Shhhhhhing! Clang! Scrrrrrrrape!** _

_Mark. Mark’s in trouble._ His pulse raced anxiously as he concentrated on the metallic noises down the hall.

_Must get up—must get up!_

Clenching his jaw, the Irish knight moved his clenched fist in front of him, straining to push himself into a sitting position. Pain shot through his entire abdomen at the small movement, and he sucked in a breath, briefly halting his efforts.

_**Clang! Clang! Scrrrrrrape!** _As the sounds of fighting continued, Seán heard a distant howl of pain that he immediately recognized as Wade’s, followed by Mark’s primal, enraged roar. With the extra adrenaline boost, he tried again, and felt a rush of relief as he managed to force himself to his knee.

_**Shhhhhhing! Crash!** _Something heavy and likely made of marble was knocked over, and Seán did his best to ignore the near-blinding flashes of pain that rocketed through him. He kept trying his hardest to get onto his feet, and as Mark cried out in obvious surprise and pain, that was the straw that broke the mule’s back. He didn’t even register that he was up and limping determinedly towards the throne room. He didn’t even register that he was ripping his sword out of its sheath and shoving the wooden doors open. But he did register the sight of that heavily armored bastard towering over Mark, who was on his back, sword several feet from his hand, face pale and eyes wide and locked with their own. The attacker raised his mace to land the final blow on Mark, and Seán charged.

The Irish knight collided shoulder-first into the stranger with a ferocious war cry, not only knocking him to the floor, but making him drop the mace, which slid conveniently to the king.

Staggering, the brunet forced himself to stand in between the two, his fiery gaze locked onto the intruder’s.

_**“You,”** _he snarled out, blood absolutely boiling with rage. _**“Will not dare touch this man again. Now if you have a SHRED of honor, you will get your pathetic arse off the floor and show your face.”**_

The man tensed, back turned to them for a long moment, before he slowly reached up to his helmet and removed it, turning and revealing his face to them—as Seán had suspected, it was a complete stranger.

However, that didn’t help him feel any better. He just felt utter disgust and hatred towards the heap of cattle dung who’d dared try and kill the love of his life.

Dimly, he heard Sir Wade getting up from nearby, just as Sir Bob noisily limped into the room, and as he risked a glance at the two, Seán heaved a small exhale of relief to see that they were both alright. He made a singular motion with his sword at the assailant on the floor, and both knights obediently flocked to him, wrenching his arms behind his back and hauling him to his feet and out of the throne room. Only then did he allow himself to relax, and turned around to meet the king’s warm gaze as Mark stood up with a relieved smile and offered him a hug. The brunet gladly took it, swallowing a wince as he felt Mark accidentally pressing against his injury.

“Seán, my clover, I was so worried….” The other man choked out, briefly pulling away to meet the Irishman in a kiss. Seán smiled against the tender gesture, and opened his mouth to speak. But he didn’t get the chance to, because abruptly, a sudden wave of nausea swept over him.

“Seán?” He heard Mark calling worriedly. _“SEÁN?”_

The Irishman didn’t respond—he couldn’t. His mouth was dry as cotton, and he couldn’t stop his knees from buckling underneath him. As a black haze drifted over his bleary vision and the sounds around him became muffled, Seán just managed to hear his love frantically screaming his name, and then calling for someone to come help.

_“Seán, my love, please hold on….”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the battle.

He looked so pale.

King Mark stood in the unnaturally silent bedroom, chest aching with heartbreak and head bowed as he tried not to stare at the man laying under the blankets. Seán had been hurt, it seemed—and despite the other man’s hopes, the injury he’d received during yesterday’s fight hadn’t been minor. Seán had suffered two broken ribs, one of which had splintered and probably pierced a section of his lung. And deep down, Mark knew that this was bad.

With a tight throat, he looked up at his lover’s relaxed face, his gaze briefly flitting over it and returning to the floor as his eyes welled up with tears, and a pang tore through his heart.

_Why did I run? Why did I leave him there to fight? I_ nternally, he kicked himself for letting Wade drag him to the throne room. Sure, he was the king, and since he wouldn’t nor couldn’t bear any children, his status was more important than it’d previously been.

_But I left him. I left the other half of my heart to fight practically on his own, and now he’s going to pay the price for my mistake._ Mark ducked his head again, not even tying to stop the fractured sob that forced its way out of him. This wasn’t fair. Seán didn’t deserve to be on his deathbed for such a foolish thing.

Briefly, he thought of the look on his lover’s face when the Irish knight had stormed into that throne room and rammed the attacker to the floor. He’d never seen Seán so utterly _furious_ prior to that. And then when his lover had collapsed in his arms, he’d seemed…strangely calm. Mark had saw him smile for one fleeting moment, just before Seán had closed his eyes, and it hurt to realize that the knight had been smiling because he knew that he’d done his job. He’d protected him, and that was the best and most honorable way that a knight could hope to go down.

Sniffling softly, Mark dared to look at Seán’s nearly white face again.

_But damnit, his job isn’t done yet. And if it is, then so is mine._

He tore his eyes away from the brunet, then glanced out the window. It was the middle of the night, and the castle was nearly silent. Some of the other men, like Sir Tyler and Sir Ethan, were standing vigil just outside the King’s room, while the rest of his knights busily patrolled the castle, determined not to let so much as a mouse get inside. If Mark listened closely, he could just make out the barely audible, raspy breaths coming from his lover’s almost motionless form.

The king blinked some fresh tears out of his eyes, then slowly managed to approach the bedside on shaking legs. Once he was close enough, he bent down and laid a gentle kiss upon Seán’s cold lips, grasping the other man’s limp hand in his own. Tears spilt freely down his cheeks, as he forced out the words.

_“P-please…….please keep fighting for me, my clover.”_ Midway through his desperate plea, his voice cracked, but he didn’t care about that. _“I-I cannot rule without you.”_

The king stared down at the brunet’s unresponsive face, a sob tearing out of him, and then began to climb into the bed with the other man. As he settled down beside Seán, Mark wept softly, unable to rest nor take his hand off of the Irishman’s own.

He stayed like that until the early morning sun began to lighten the clouds outside, and as it did, he saw that Seán’s condition still hadn’t improved. At that point, he felt…..almost accepting of the situation. It was very likely that his lover would not make it through this injury, and Mark had to prepare himself.

Blinking away the wetness in his eyes, he rested his leaden head against Seán’s shoulder.

_“I….”_ The words came out hoarsely, but he pressed on. _“I love you….Seán McLoughlin….”_

Mark just hoped that the brunet heard that part.

Sniffling miserably, he ducked his head again, halfheartedly squeezing Seán’s hand—

And he felt just the tiniest squeeze in return.


	3. Acceptance

“I swear, I felt him move.”

King Mark stared down at Seán’s pale face as Sir Bob, Sir Wade and two of his other knights milled around the bed, with the former carefully examining the Irishman. The raven haired man nibbled anxiously on his lower lip while he watched Bob look Seán up and down, searching for any sign that the wounded knight was indeed coming back to them.

But to Mark’s disappointment, Seán didn’t so much as twitch.

_Come on, love….._ He internally begged the brunet, staring more intensely at that pale face he adored so much.

“Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you.” Ethan piped up from Mark’s right, earning a disapproving look from the king.

From his left, Tyler placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Ethan may be right.” He added, to Mark’s shock. “You are under a lot of stress, as are we, and we all know how close you are to Seán,” the tall knight reasoned. “So it is very plausible that you thought you felt his hand move.”

The king had to force down the lump that was steadily forming in his throat as he realized that perhaps his two friends were right.

_Perhaps Seán isn’t going to recover. Perhaps I was just setting my hopes too high._

Glancing back at the man laying in the bed, he felt unshed tears stinging his eyes. To see the person who’d dedicated himself to protecting him, to caring for him and loving him just laying there so weak, so frail….it hurt him more than a thousand daggers ever could.

“Shall we call in Evelyn?” Bob offered from in front of them. Mark hesitated for a long moment, then gave a small shake of his head.

“N-no. No, that….” He swallowed, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking. “That won’t be necessary.”

The hand on his shoulder gave a small, comforting squeeze, and Mark slowly met Tyler’s sympathetic gaze, the tears in his eyes beginning to make his vision blurrier.

“We’ll stay.” The taller knight promised softly. At the king’s right, Ethan pressed closer to him, evidently trying to add his own comfort.

Mark gave them both a solemn but grateful look. He took a deep breath, forcing out the words.

“Y-you may…..gather her and the others, but….f-for a different purpose.”

The king saw Sir Wade nod silently, before leaving the room to fetch the remaining knights and staff, while Mark let out a shuddering exhale. He felt utterly sick to his stomach.

Thankfully, Sir Tyler and Sir Ethan seemed to have no intent of letting him collapse on them, and helpfully guided their friend to the bed where Seán lay.

Feeling as though his limbs were weighted down, Mark climbed into the bed to lay beside his lover again, gently taking Seán’s cold, clammy hand in his own and interlacing his fingers with the brunet’s limp ones. As the tears began spilling down his cheeks again, he gave Seán’s knuckles a soft kiss.

He felt sick. He felt heartbroken. But most of all, he felt scared. The day that he dreaded was upon him, and he knew that he could do nothing except hope that somehow, Seán knew that he and the others were right there with him, and they weren’t going anywhere yet.

After a few minutes, Sir Nathan was led into the room by Sir Wade, with Lady Amy, Lady Evelyn, Katheryn, Mika, Molly, Mandy, Sir Matthew, and Sir Felix in tow.

As the group silently assembled around the bed, Mark gave all of them a brief, grateful look, before letting his head rest against Seán’s shoulder again.

For several agonizingly long minutes, the room was utterly soundless, save for the occasional quiet sob from one of his friends, and the feeble, raspy breathing coming from the brunet beside him. He caught a glimpse of Ethan pressing against Tyler’s side, both of their eyes watering.

Outside, the sun was steadily rising, turning the dim blueish gray sky a mix of purple and pink. As it did, Mark felt the drowsiness that naturally came from not getting a wink of sleep the night prior come back to him, and though he desperately didn’t want to, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

When he awoke next, it was to very quiet sounds—mostly the sounds of his friends weeping openly. Hesitantly, he blinked open his eyes, a tight, cold ball of dread forming in the pits of his stomach as he glanced at each face around the bed.

Sir Wade was busily dabbing at his eyes with a cloth.

Sir Bob had a hand over his mouth, face blotchy and red.

Sir Tyler and Sir Ethan both looked...surprised…?

And so did the others….

There was movement from Mark’s peripheral, and immediately he locked onto the source of it, feeling his sunken heart practically jump out of his chest from utter shock and joy.

Seán, still pale as paper, but breathing better, was moving. The Irishman’s arms slowly twitched and stirred as his eyelids flickered little by little.

And as the king sat up and stared anxiously down at him, they opened.


	4. Welcome Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Seán is finally awake, and his friends don't hesitate to lecture him for terrifying them so badly.

“Seán…?”

Upon waking up for the first time since he’d collapsed in Mark’s arms, Seán felt confusion hit him full-force.

Then, the memories came back, slowly but surely.

_There was….an intruder in the palace. Mark and I were going for a carriage ride together, and the bastard came back with us….then he hit me with a mace, and went after Mark…._

Out of sheer instinct, Seán dared to move his head so he wasn’t just staring at a white ceiling. He’d heard someone call his name, but his scattered brain couldn’t put a name to the voice.

Blinking groggily, he glanced a little bit to his left, and immediately he was met with the sight of who’d likely spoken—Mark, who was hovering a foot over his face, looking both awestruck and ready to cry.

_Mark’s okay._ His frenzied heart settled just a little bit, before the pain kicked in, and he grimaced, reaching up to hold his chest. The very instant that he did, a hand—Mark’s hand—gently grabbed his own, stopping it.

“D-don’t move, love. You’re going to be alright.” One look at the king’s face told Seán that whatever had happened wasn’t too good, and he swallowed quietly, lowering his hand.

_“Wh’t ‘ahpenned….?”_ He murmured, barely able to speak above a quiet tone—something he was known to never do unless he was sick.

Mark evidently struggled to contain himself, but smiled tearfully at him.

“I’ll tell you what happened.” The sensation of a small pillow whacking him over the head alerted Seán’s attention to Sir Bob, and he jumped a little from the unexpected hit, before looking up at the other knight.

_When did he get in here—?_ It was then that he noticed Sir Bob and Mark weren’t the only other people in the room….it was also Mark’s room, he registered. Apparently, a good majority of the castle’s staff had gathered in here.

_What….?_ He glanced up at Bob, silently demanding answers.

The larger knight scoffed quietly, and now Seán could see the tears drying on his red cheeks.

“You damn-near scared us all half to death with the stunt you pulled.”

_The stunt…? Oh…_ And just like that, the last piece of the puzzle slid into place, and Seán recalled the events in the throne room, which had culminated with him dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He summoned whatever strength he could to smile sheepishly at the other knight, then glancing at Mark’s solemn face.

_“I….I did w-what I had to.”_ Thankfully, Mark let out a soft exhale, leaning closer and squeezing Seán’s cold hand.

“You did, my clover.” He agreed quietly, sounding on the verge of crying. With his free arm, the brunet weakly pulled him in closer for a hug, careful to not let Mark touch his evidently injured chest.

“You did indeed.” Tyler spoke up from nearby. “But please, for our sake as well as yours, try not to do it again.”

Seán heard several murmurs of agreement from around the room, and blushed in embarrassment as the assembled castle staff began moving closer to them, smiling proudly at the knight and tentatively patting him on the shoulder or ruffling his hair. As they did, he shared an amused look with Mark, who sat neatly beside him, not letting go of his hand.

“Ye can keep knockin’ me down and keep fightin’ me,” The Irish knight reminded him, quietly. “But I’m gonna get back up.”

Mark smiled brighter than the sun at that statement, and Seán smiled back at him.

But despite being bedridden with what he discovered to be two broken ribs according to Lady Evelyn, and feeling like a pile of cattle dung from it, the situation wasn’t so bad, he mused. He’d done his job. He’d protected Mark, and kept him on the throne. The attempted assassin was locked away in the dungeons.

It was a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheh, I couldn't help but throw in that little Schmoyoho reference.  
> Stay indoors, stay safe, don't touch your face, and peace out!


End file.
